


Pretty People Problems

by themunchking



Series: Apples & Sugar [1]
Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Idol!Jongin, M/M, Mark and Johnny as brothers, No Beta we ride at dawn, No Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Shower Sex, Smut, Surprise Angst, student!mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 03:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themunchking/pseuds/themunchking
Summary: Everything, really, can be traced back to Ten, and those damn gallery tickets.(Or, normal college student Mark meets world-famous supermodel Jongin in New York. Things go from there.)





	Pretty People Problems

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the dirty sinners out there. Enjoy, heathens.
> 
> Note: DO NOT repost anywhere. This work can only be posted by the author (me) and is only intended for Ao3

If Mark thinks back, everything, really, can be traced back to Ten and those damn gallery tickets, the ones he offered to Mark because Ten is dating his big brother, and everyone knows that Johnny adores his baby bro. 

So Ten had probably pushed the tickets to the private party at a swanky Soho gallery into his hands as a way to get back in Johnny’s good-graces after one of their little fights. But hey, Mark was a college student and wasn’t about to pass up the free food and free booze (rich people, apparently, don’t have to obey American drinking laws). Ten had even given him a jacket to wear straight off the rack in his showroom, and judging from the sheer amount of hand-sewn crystals, something he wouldn’t have been able to pay for with a lifetime of busking. 

When he first arrived, Mark had felt terribly out of place. Everyone was talking to someone with a champagne flute in one hand and a business card in another, all of this while casually standing around exorbitantly-priced art. Mark did not have a business card. He could barely remember his _ phone number_. But then he’d started downing flutes of his own, two is quick succession, so instead of just being out of place, he was standing awkwardly in the corner, pleasantly buzzed. 

Everyone—men, women, and androgynous high-fashion robots with bleached eyebrows—was intimidatingly beautiful. Another reason to be thankful for the alcohol, because otherwise Mark wasn’t sure his poor, bisexual heart would be able to handle all the eye-candy sober. Mark pretended to look at the art, but really, his gaze travelled around the room, jumping from one beautiful person to the next. 

And, apparently, someone had been eyeing him, too. 

“Is that jacket House of Ten? I’ve never seen it before,” an accented, deep voice asked, directly over Mark’s left shoulder. He narrowly avoided spilling champagne on some painting of lines and squiggles, but _ did _ let out an embarrassing squeak of surprise. A large hand closed around his back and the same voice said, now edged high with concern, “Sorry, sorry!” 

Then Mark looked up. Standing awfully close to him, with his perfect, adonis face and glowing tan skin, was Kai Kim. The same Kai Kim whose face was plastered on billboards and magazines from Korea to Dubai, and was on TV selling yogurt, and walked in Met Gala red carpets and worldwide fashion weeks. 

Mark didn’t know what to do, because a hundred-percent of his brain energy was focused on how _ Kai Kim _was still touching him, and was close enough for Mark to smell his perfect, antibiotic-infused yogurt breath. So he laughed. Nervously. 

“No haha, I’m good, I’m good.” He realized Kai Kim had asked him a question, so against his best interest he continued the stumbling conversation. God, he should just flee before it was took late. He wondered if he would be able to get through the buzzing swarm of paparazzi outside before he dropped dead of embarrassment. “It’s uh... unreleased I guess? Ten just like, gave it to me, today?” 

“You know Ten? Ooooh, _ daebak_,” Kai Kim brought his hand (_still _ resting on Mark’s back, through all of this), around to stroke the crystals sewn onto Mark’s shoulder, and ran his other hand down the glittering lapel. Vaguely, Mark realized that Kai Kim was, essentially, fondling him. Did he like it? Yeah, of course he liked it. “I love his work.” 

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. 

Wait. 

“Yeah,” he said again, but this time in Korean. It was time to put a lifetime of weekend Korean lessons and two years of Korean university to work. “I know Ten hyung, kind of. He’s my brother’s boyfriend. I don’t see a lot of him, but he’s really cool.” 

Kai’s eyes widened with surprise and delight. “You’re Korean? You know Korean?” he exclaimed, though at that point it was obvious. Kai’s English was competent, but he seemed so relieved to be able to talk in his native language. “I’m so sorry, America takes my manners away,” Kai stepped back from Mark, who missed him immediately. But then he was sticking out his hand and _ bowing _ to Mark like he was some honored guest. “I’m Kim Jongin. It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“Seo Mark,” he said, returning the gesture. Before Mark could retract his hand entirely, Jongin changed his grip so that his fingers lingered on Mark’s when their hands fell to their sides. He ran his larger hand carefully under the cuff of Marks sleeve, running his thumb over the surface of Mark’s cheap Amazon watch. 

_ Kai Kim—Kim Jongin, _ Mark’s brain helpfully supplied to him, _ is flirting with you. _

Mark was powerless, looking up into Jongin’s eyes. When he watched Mark, he did so with the entirety of his attention. Without the liquid courage he’d had earlier, maybe Mark would look away and brush the obvious advances off with a shy laugh. But he didn’t, and they stood there until the tension between them boiled up and over. 

Jongin’s thumb brushed over the high of Mark’s cheekbone, so featherlight it could have just been a trick of the shadows. “You’re so cute when you blush,” he said softly, intimately, like what he had to say was for Mark’s ears only, although he was the only other person in the room who could even understand. 

“You’re really hot,” Mark replied, like an idiot. Jongin laughed like this was the funniest thing he’s heard all party, all week, even. Unlike the rest of him, his laugh wasn’t polished and perfect. It was too loud, and pitched up sharply in the beginning. It was honest, and because of that, it was the most beautiful thing about him. 

“You’re cute when you talk, too,” Jongin told him. When Mark looked into his eyes all he saw were dark pools of _ want. _ “So, so cute.” 

Five minutes later, Jongin was jamming the completely unnecessary metal tissue box holder into the handle of the bathroom door before turning on Mark and pressing him insistently against the counter with the heat of his mouth. 

Kissing Jongin was a fever dream. His lips were the sweetest honey, the kind of thing Mark could get addicted to, or was _ already _ addicted to. He kissed Mark with the smooth motion of waves, giving him just enough to try to follow the older man when he pulled back, but not so much as to be _ too _ much. It was clear who was in control—Jongin had Mark pulled taunt around his pretty fingers. 

Still, Jongin’s presence was overwhelming. Mark wanted to drown in it. 

Jongin pushed Ten’s jacket off Mark’s shoulder with fast, careless hands. “Ah, wait—” 

“I’ll pay Ten whatever he wants for it.” Jongin tossed the jacket, and Mark became too occupied with other things to pay attention to where it landed. 

With a hand under Mark’s thigh Jongin lifted him until he was sitting on the counter. His legs moved without thought, wrapping around Jongin’s slim waist until the two of them were pressed together fully, and Mark could feel the shocking hardness of Jongin’s dick against his own even through the layers of their pants. 

Jongin gasped into his mouth, and the hand cupping Mark’s face pressed into his jaw. Internally, Mark flushed with pride. _ He _ did that to Jongin. It was _ his _ body Jongin couldn’t get enough of. 

“I saw you as soon as I walked in. You were standing in your corner and I thought, _ who is that _? I needed to know,” Jongin said, voice husky. The intoxicating warmth of his mouth drew a line up Mark’s jaw to the shell of his ear, and he breathed out a tiny laugh when he found Mark’s cartilage piercing there. He tugged at his gently with his teeth and Mark whined, high and long. His hands scrambled to find purchase on broad expanse of Jongin’s back. He wanted more than anything to rut up against Jongin, but he was stopped by a firm hand on his hip. 

“Are you desperate for it, Mark?” When Jongin said his name, the _ k _ at the end was soft, turning up into a gentle _ eu _ sound, the way Mark’s friends and Korea would say it. Coming from Jongin’s mouth his name sounded like warm molasses. A noise came from Mark’s lips, pressed together because if he opened them, there was no telling what kinds of sounds would come out. “Please, let me hear you.” 

“Yes,” Mark panted. “Yes, I want it. Please, hyung.” 

The effect was instantaneous—Jongin’s lips met his again, all of the previous softness gone. He pulled Mark forward and grinded up into him with full force, dancer hips moving in all the right ways to drive them both insane. Pressed against the mirror, with Jongin’s body looming over him, Mark felt tiny. All that from a simple word? How long had it been, Mark wondered, since someone had called Jongin _ hyung_? 

So he said it again. 

“_Hyung _, please touch me.” 

Jongin shuddered, a full body effect, like he’d just been shocked. Even muffled by Mark’s mouth, his groan was still loud and seemed to reverberate off every tile in the bathroom. “Ok, baby.” 

Even though he asked for it, Mark was still surprised when his belt snaps open and Jongin pulled his cock from the black jeans he’d stuffed himself into. It felt unbelievable, Jongin’s large, soft, hands against his erection, enough for Mark to come right then and there. 

Mark would have taken anything Jongin was willing to give him, even a dry handjob, but fortunately Jongin had the presence of mind to feel around for one of the fancy bottles of lotion on the counter and squeeze a handful into his palm. 

The cold made Mark jump, and Jongin laughed. He was so worked up, he knew he wouldn’t be able to last long. All Mark could do was press his forehead against Jongin’s shoulder for support and be dragged along for the ride as Jongin stroked him, hard, fast, and practiced. 

And then Jongin opened his mouth. 

“Next time—” Mark’s heart jumped at the suggestion, “I want to do this nice and slow. I want to bring you right to the edge until you need to come, but I know you can be a good boy and hold off. I want to take my time with you and hear all the pretty noises you can make, stretched open on my fingers, before I fuck you hard and slow all night. Do you want that, Mark?” 

Jongin, Mark realized then, was the devil with a kind face. He twisted the palm of his hand around the head of Mark’s cock and then Mark’s vision whited out with the force of his orgasm. Jongin had the audacity to chuckle in his ear. 

Mark melted, boneless, against Jongin. Despite the filth that had just poured from his mouth, the hand that rubbed his back was careful and soothing, as were the kisses he pressed against the slope of Mark’s neck. Jongin made no effort to move before Mark was ready for whatever came next, and for that, Mark had some ideas of his own. 

With all the energy he could manage, which at the moment wasn’t much, Mark pushed Jongin away from him. Mark caught a flash of his face—flushed, mouth red and swollen from kissing, hair a mess, but with an expression that was confused, even a little hurt. 

It changed on a dime when Mark dropped in one motion off the counter and onto his knees. 

Mark licked his lips slyly. “Let me, hyung?” 

Jongin’s eyebrows shot up and he smiled his more genuine smile, not the smirk Mark saw in magazine editorial pages. They maneuvered until it was Jongin with his back to the counter and Mark was kneeling on the bathroom floor before him, mouth inches from the strain at the front of Jongin’s leather pants. 

Before facing that, though, Mark took an indulgent moment to run a hand under Jongin’s silk shirt, stained filthy with Mark’s own cum, to take a peek at Jongin’s honey-dipped abs. 

“Sorry about the shirt,” Mark mumbled. 

“I’ll get it dry cleaned,” Jongin dismissed. He placed his hands on Mark’s head, fingers tangled in his dark hair, not to control, just to be there. 

This, Mark knew how to do. He even _ loved _ to do it. His mouth was watering before he even took Jongin out of his pants and took a long inhale of the musky scent. Jongin was long, but not too thick, so Mark was able to slide his dick in his mouth without much trouble or fear of teeth. Boys Mark had been with before, they always closed their eyes when Mark did this, but when he looked up through his eyelashes Jongin was staring back down at him, pupils dark and blown open. 

It was intoxicating, the way Jongin looked at him. 

He took him down as far as he could go, doing his best to swallow and work the shaft with his tongue and throat, and where he couldn’t quite get to he made up with a spit-slicked fist. Mark knew he was good at this. He also knew what the sounds coming from him were like, how lewd they were, and the effect they were having on Jongin was evident. 

Jongin’s hands were fisted tight in Mark’s hair, burning, but in a delicious way. He was still holding back from bucking up into Mark’s mouth; his abdomen was heaving and Mark could feel the wet, warm slide of precome mixing with his saliva. The blowjob was sloppy, and nasty, but what about the entire situation _ wasn’t? _ Mark was on the bathroom floor, sucking the dick of one of the most famous people on the _ planet_, with a room of other famous, pretty people outside. God if it wasn’t the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. 

The door jiggled sharply. In the moment that followed, two things happened at once. One, Mark froze, the erotic miasma that had set over them clearing all at once. They were inches away from being caught, but the metal tissue holder held and the door held, and the door stayed shut. Second, every toned muscle in Jongin’s body tensed and he broke down at last, pushing Mark’s head down as cum spilled down his throat. They had been inches away from being caught, yes, and apparently that turned Jongin on like nothing else. 

Mark coughed and pulled off gingerly, but not before he took a few last mischievous licks around the head of Jongin’s cock while the elder petted his hair. 

“Can I buy you dinner?” Jongin asked, breathless. 

“How about takeout,” Mark suggested.

-

“What?” Mark looked at Jongin, confused. The words that he had just heard failed to make any sense. Across from him, Jongin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. They were in a private room in a restaurant owned by a friend of Jongin’s—no one was there but Mark to see him squirm. 

“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” Jongin repeated. “Mark, I like you so much. But I can’t give you a—a relationship. Who I date and am seen with aren’t in my control. But if it’s not a _ relationship_, then...”

“Wait wait wait, lemme get this straight. You want to be my sugar daddy?” Mark had to be hearing things. Being on a date with Kim Jongin was its own kind of absurdity, but _ this _ was another all together. Jongin flushed scarlet, high on his sharp cheekbones. Ok, technically, their first “date” had been hooking up in a gallery bathroom three days ago, but Mark’s excuse for that was being caught in the heat of the moment. 

“Uh, yes?” Jongin reaches across the table and took one of Mark’s hands in his own. He cradled it like a precious thing, brought it to his lips and kissed his fingers like he was praying to them. When he looked at Mark he smiled. “I can take care of you, Mark, so let me. Please?” 

_ This is not a good idea, _ Mark thought. _ This is going to end in heartbreak_. 

“Ok, sure,” Mark said. Jongin’s grin was brilliant, blinding in its pleasure. “I’m in.” 

-

Fast forward to now—Jongin curls around him in bed, bending as a moth does to a flame. All five of his fingers press into Mark’s chest as a breathes (_ in, out. In, out). _Even though Jongin’s bed is huge, he still sleeps pressed right up next to Mark, skin against skin. 

Last night, Jongin flew in from Paris, and by the time he’d walked in the door he was too exhausted to do anything besides just lay down with Mark in bed and kiss him until they fell asleep. Mark’s been waiting for him, and today, he’s made sure he’s got nothing to do but this. 

He doesn’t have to be too careful when he slides out of bed—Jongin sleeps like the dead, and morning’s aren’t his thing even without a sleepless six hour flight a few hours before. Though it is difficult to leave the warm cocoon of the blankets and sheets with thread counts in the thousands. Remaining in Jongin’s arms is incredibly tempting.

When Mark sleeps over at Jongin’s (and Jongin is there), mornings are usually his time to do school work. What Mark has learned is that when they’re together, what Jongin wants more than anything is his _ attention _ . It’s not much to ask, in terms of bargaining. But it’s December, and finals have just ended, and Mark did better than he’s ever done because when Jongin was gone, he left Mark with a key and all the time in the world to study (though Jongin had pouted for _ days _ when Mark told him there was no way he could go to Paris with him). 

So instead, he settles for making breakfast. _ Trying _ to make breakfast, at least. Mark’s always been a lousy cook, though in the three months they’ve known each other Jongin has tried to teach him. He hasn’t exactly been successful.

The fried eggs come out a little weird and a little burnt, but when Mark pulls a piece off with his chopsticks it still tastes pretty good, so he’ll call it a net win. Jongin likes sweet things in the morning, though, so Mark looks up a french toast recipe on his phone. It doesn’t look _ that hard _, and by the time he figures it out, Jongin will probably be just about ready to wake up. 

Thirty minutes and one smoke detector fake-out later, Mark is no closer to having breakfast ready than he was before he even woke up. The first time he tried to soak the bread it came out too soggy, then he burnt it, and then just when he thought he had a perfect piece it slid off the plate and fell on the floor. Mark seriously considered eating anyways. 

He’s preparing for his fourth round when two arms wrap around his midsection. Mark doesn’t jump like he would have a few months ago—he’s used to Jongin sneaking around like this. The ballet training makes him light on his toes. Dry lips press into the juncture of Mark’s neck and shoulder; Jongin nuzzles the area like an affectionate cat. 

“Is that supposed to be food you’re attempting?” Jongin chuckles. Mark whines, but he not-so-subtly shuffles his ass backwards as he tosses the spatula into the sink. The feeling of Jongin’s morning wood makes him feel hungry for an entirely different kind of thing, grumbling stomach forgotten. Mark hasn’t been fucked by Jongin in a week—he’s feeling a little desperate. 

“French—ah—toast,” Mark gasps. Jongin gets his hips rolling properly so with every wave and roll his dick rubs at the cleft of Mark’s ass. The layers between them are thin—Jongin insists on all-silk pajamas. 

“Yummy.” Jongin reaches over Mark and swipes a finger through the egg and cinnamon batter. Close to his ear Mark can hear Jongin taste it, can imagine the swirl of his tongue, how sweet and delicious Jongin must taste now. But then Jongin is pushing that digit against Mark’s lips, sliding his index finger into the warm cavern of Mark’s mouth and pressing down on his tongue. He goes until he’s in to his knuckle and Mark moans around it, wanton, too tired and touch-starved for tact. He wants to have other parts of Jongin in his mouth, but this is certainly nice, too. 

“I missed you baby,” Jongin whispers, voice hoarse from arousal and sleep. His words light small fires across Mark’s exposed skin. “I got you a present.” 

“_Jongin,_” Mark sighs. A familiar emotion boils up in Mark’s stomach. An uneasiness that’s been with him since the beginning, something that comes along with every lavish gift Jongin parades in front of him. “You know you don’t—” 

“Hush,” Jongin says. He’s already slipping the gift around Mark’s neck. The younger boy knows there will be more where that came from. “I’ll order breakfast. Go shower, I’ll meet you there.” 

Inside Jongin’s massive bathroom, Mark inspects the gift. The necklace is undeniably beautiful, undeniably _ Mark_. It’s a silver cross on a silver chain, no bigger than the last knuckle of his thumb. The inside is filled with small, sparkling diamonds, which means it costs Jongin a pretty penny, but isn’t ostentatious until further inspection, either. When Mark strips off his bedtime shirt he leaves the necklace on, and it looks even more stunning against his bare skin. 

Figures. Jongin has lovely taste with these kinds of things. 

Mark is still studying the necklace when Jongin finds him in the bathroom. Like in the kitchen, he takes up position behind Mark, but it’s different being able to look at themselves paired together. It’s also Mark’s first real opportunity to study Jongin since he returned. His hair was dyed a silver-brown abroad, one side cut slightly shorter than the other. It suits him, because every hairstyle suits him. 

Of course, Mark saw the pictures of Jongin in France, walking in runways and even paparazzi photos taken in a flurry outside on Jongin’s hotel. But here in Mark’s arms he doesn’t look like that polished, otherworldly star. He looks... fluffy and happy, smiling like a goof over Mark’s shoulder. Like he and Mark are normal boyfriends living normal lives. 

Jongin places his hand on top of Mark’s on the cross and intwines them. “You like it,” he states. Mark nods. More than a necklace, more than anything, he’d like to just have _ Jongin _. 

_ All I want is you _ , he thinks, but that’s not the terms of their arrangement. Mark gets to have Jongin’s body and his gifts, but not _ that_. 

Teasing fingers flutter down Mark’s bare chest and toy with the waistband of his pants. Through the silk, Mark’s half-hard erection makes a clear line. When Jongin pulls him out, Mark’s automatic reaction is to arch is neck back into the hard chest behind him, but a sure hand on his chin brings his eyes back front. Jongin wants him to watch. 

“Look at how pretty you are,” Jongin croons. He works his hand around Mark’s shaft in an unpredictable pattern, not enough for Mark to build up his orgasm. Mark doesn’t want to come yet, anyways—Jongin surely has something else planned for him. His other hand drops from Mark’s jaw to thumb across his nipple. Mark’s heart skips a beat and he bucks up unconsciously into Jongin’s fist, making the elder laugh. “You look so good flushed and worked up for me. I’m so lucky.”

_ I’m lucky_, Mark wants to say. Instead, he just gasps out, “Ah, Jongin, please.” 

“What, baby?” Jongin squeezes his dick tighter and Mark groans tightly. “What do you want?” 

“_More _, Jongin.” 

“More than this?” Jongin teases. He reaches down and fondles Mark’s balls in the way he knows drives Mark crazy. The heat of the shower is beginning to steam up the bathroom, but that’s not the reason Mark is feeling so warm. His body is _ aching _ for Jongin. 

“Don’t tease me now, hyung,” Mark pants. He reaches his own arms around to grasp two handfuls of Jongin’s amazing ass. It’s worth it to feel Jongin grind into him helplessly, to feel the drag of his cock against Mark’s ass again. He loves that he can rile up Jongin as much as the other does him. 

Jongin spins him around and then Mark is being pulled into a bruising kiss, more teeth and tongue than Jongin’s commonplace gentleness. It’s his tell, how Mark knows he’s really gotten under his skin. With one hand and some shuffling he pushes Mark’s pants down the rest of the way. Mark himself is too busy running his hands under Jongin’s clothes, feeling every part of him that he possibly can. He actually cries out pitifully when Jongin pulls away. 

“Get in the shower.” He smirks, and Mark knows he’s up to something. “Can you spread your cheeks for me, against the glass?” 

“_Hyung!” _ Mark blushes. It’s a dirty request—_very _ dirty. Jongin just raises an eyebrow at him, and Mark knows just from that look that if he wants to get off anytime soon, he’d better do what Jongin says. 

Well. If he’s going to put on a show, then Mark will put on a show. 

Jongin’s shower is a huge, glass enclosure that has never struck Mark as very practical, but it has its benefits. The warm spray has fogged up the glass, so when Mark’s inside he first backs up against the wall facing Jongin and, every so slowly, slides down into a slut drop he spent a semester perfecting, his ass dragging down the glass all the way. 

It’s only with Jongin does he feel sexy like this, knowing that he has every drop of Jongin’s attention. Only with Jongin does he feel capable of being an object of _desire_. 

Inside the shower he can’t hear or see Jongin’s reaction, but he can imagine it. How Jongin is probably fisting himself slowly, extra-tight how he likes when he’s warming up. How he’s probably forgone trying to control his expression, and how his mouth is probably dropped open in wanting. 

To himself, Mark smirks. Then, he does as Jongin really wants. His back arches as he bends forward with his hands behind him, pulling his cheeks apart to show off his tight, pink hole. The feeling of the smooth, cool glass against this intimate part of his is so tantalizing; it’s a new feeling that sends shivers up and down his synapses. He clenches again and again around nothing, his body desperate for something to fill him. Curved against his inner thigh, his own cock twitches. He feels so depraved, so exposed, so needy. All for Jongin. 

A thump against the glass, close. It’s a feat of flexibility for Mark to twist around and look, and when he does he sees Jongin right there on the other side of the glass, completely naked now, looking not at Mark’s face but down to his wanting hole. Mark moans when he follows that look, to where Jongin is rubbing the head of his dick against the glass, smearing his precome in an erotic mess. 

Mark wants Jongin so badly he can feel it in his fingers, his toes.

Knowing that Jongin is watching, Mark inches a finger towards his hole. The stream of water dripping down his back is hardly a replacement for lube, but Mark is still able to slide a finger inside himself with just the barest of a burn. He’s still trying to finger himself open when Jongin steps into the shower and makes a direct line to him. 

“My dirty baby,” he growls against Mark’s mouth. He holds Mark so that the arm fingering himself is trapped behind him, and his shoulder will ache later, but that will just be another way for Mark to be reminded of Jongin. “So _ good _for me.” 

“Yeah?” It comes out as a high whine. Mark, always so eager to please. 

“Yes,” Jongin assures. He’s brought the coconut oil with him, and soon enough two slicked-up fingers are joining Mark’s single one inside of him. He shuffles his legs apart more to make room, and Jongin takes his cue and slots a thing in-between. This time, the stretch really burns, and Mark squirms. Jongin stills his fingers and occupies him with a series of kisses until Mark is still. “Let me do all the work, ok?” 

So Mark tosses both arms around Jongin’s neck for leverage, hitches a leg around his hip as high as he can. Jongin scissors him open carefully, like he always does when they’ve been apart for longer than 48 hours—which is becoming more and more rare. With his thumb, Jongin rubs at Mark’s perineum, sensitive and unexpected. 

They have sex all the time, but they still manage to catch each other off-guard. 

“Another,” Mark says, before going back to sucking on Jongin’s tongue, and Jongin obliges. At his core, he’s a gentleman. For all he loves to praise Mark and is usually the one in charge in bed, Jongin can never really deny Mark anything. If he chose to exercise this more often, Mark could get anything he wanted from Jongin, except for the one thing he wants more than the rest combined. So instead, he’s disciplined. 

Jongin has beautiful, long fingers, and they rub at all the right spots inside Mark. He’s done it before where he’s made Mark come again and again on those fingers alone. As much as Mark has enjoyed that, what he wants now in Jongin’s cock inside him. He needs to feel him. 

“I’m ready,” he says against Jongin’s mouth. He makes a noise of affirmation but continues to kiss Mark, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. If Mark is lucky, they’ll be bruised later. 

“Have to turn around, baby.” 

Now, it’s Mark straining dick that’s pressed against the glass. He can see Jongin’s precome dripping down the other side, and it makes him a little lightheaded. Maybe Jongin will have him lick it up when they’re done. The glass is slick against his palms, but Jongin hold onto him tight so Mark feels secure, and not like he’s about to slip and fall. Breaking his arm during shower sex would be tough to explain to Johnny. 

The tip of Jongin’s dick presses against Mark. He shivers with anticipation. “Ready?” Jongin asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer—they both know how much Mark wants it. 

They both groan in unison when Jongin pushes in. “So tight,” he gasps. Mark can feel every inch of the older man inside him, and he revels in all of it, too. The heat of him is _ so good_, and as soon as Jongin bottoms out fully Mark feels like there’s Jongin in every part of him, just how he wants it. 

Jongin circles his hips slowly and Mark has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Oh, Jongin will get him going eventually, but he wants to hold out until he absolutely can’t take it anymore. Jongin folds his body over Mark’s, reaching the younger man’s ear easily. “It’s so nice to be back,” he whispers, before pulling back and driving forward all the way in a single stroke. 

This time, Mark really lets go and _ wails_. Jongin continues to pound into him and Mark shakes with every thrust. As a former dancer, Jongin has perfect control over his body, and every time he moves backwards it’s until Mark is only clenching around the tip, and he pushes back into Mark with the controlled force of a fighter jet taking off. 

One of Jongin’s arms wraps securely around Mark’s waist, but the other slides up his chest until he reaches a nipple. He takes the sensitive nub between his two fingers and rolls it, then moves onto the other when it becomes hard and perky. He has a thing for them, and Mark doesn’t mind it at all. 

“Ngggggh,” Mark slurs, incoherent. The warmth of the shower, and the press of Jongin inside him, and the rolls of pleasure from his nipples, is a lot. It’s almost too much, and Mark is just trying to ride is pleasure out.

“Oh? Trying to say something?” Jongin teases, though his own words come out breathy. 

“I—ah_, fuck! Fuck!” _ Mark cries out, louder, when Jongin suddenly changes his angle and drives into Mark’s prostate. “_Oh holy fuck.” _

“There’s an idea,” Jongin comments. The hand toying with his nipples travels further up to the cross still looped around Mark’s neck. He takes it and Mark has no clue as to the goal here, until he feels the metal push against his bottom lip. When his mouth yields, Jongin places the tip of the cross just barely past his teeth and Mark gets the memo to bite down on it. 

As his strokes becomes shorter and more erratic, Jongin changes his grip. One arm loops under Mark’s armpit and brackets his collarbone, with the final resting place of the hand being the hollow of Mark’s neck. It’s not enough to really cut off any airflow, but the pressure of it there is enough to bring Mark a tiny bit closer. Jongin bends his knees more, too, and pulls Mark’s hips back until he’s nearly squatting in Jongin’s lap. It’s not an angle they can sustain for long, but it does allow for Jongin to hit Mark’s prostate on every thrust. 

“Jerk off for me,” Jongin says. “Make your cute cock come for me.” 

The cute words build the fire in Mark’s belly. Before Jongin, he didn’t think he would be into this kind of praising, but only Jongin is capable of it coming off as genuinely sweet and not patronizing. Mark gladly grips his neglected cock, deep red and bouncing between his thighs as Jongin has been moving him. Now that he’s been given permission, it doesn’t take long at all for Mark to come, just some rapid pumping of his slick fist, and he’s spurting over the glass. He clenches down when his comes, and when he does he can feel Jongin’s cock pulse inside him. 

The cross drops from Mark’s mouth and he sighs, sagging against the glass and pressing his forehead against it. Jongin’s motions inside him have stopped and he rubs soothing circles into his thighs and abdomen. When Mark has caught his breath, he pulls out entirely, to the other’s disappointed whimper. 

“Can I come on your back?” Jongin asks. 

“No,” Mark says. “Use—use my thighs.” 

“_Oh.” _

His legs are shaky, but for this, Mark just needs to stay upright. More coconut oil coats the smooth inside of his inner thighs. With their height difference Jongin needs to angle down some, but this also allows him to cover Mark’s body with his own, and to pepper the back of Mark’s neck with kitten nips and kisses. Pressed against the glass, Mark is caged in between Jongin’s arms and it feels _ incredible_. 

Mark’s always a little shy about suggesting things like this, even now, but though he doesn’t get much physical pleasure from it, the concept of Jongin using him as a means of masturbation burns like a forest fire through his veins.

Jongin groans and shudders when he comes, and Mark feels it in every place they’re touching, from their legs up to their wrists. His cum mixes with Mark’s on the glass. For a minute they just pant in silence. Before the post-orgasm glow fades complete, Mark takes one of Jongin’s hands in his and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of his wrist, at the pulse point there. 

“Welcome home,” he says, quiet. 

-

Mark doesn’t leave the apartment until the next day, and they don’t even manage to get out of bed until well into the afternoon. Well, Mark gets out of bed. Jongin watches him from where he’s propped himself up on the pillows. He’s lounging around in nothing but his third pair of boxer briefs that day with a bowl of raspberries beside him. Mark may or may not have eaten several of said raspberries off Jongin’s very bare and very beautiful chest. Red in Jongin’s color, everywhere. 

He watches the whole time as Mark collects his things and makes himself presentable for the outside world, which for Mark means jeans, a hoodie, and his contacts instead of glasses. Mark’s first attempt at leaving was almost two hours ago, but Jongin’s pout had made it impossible. 

But in reality, it’s not _ only _ Jongin’s pout that makes Mark want to stay. It’s officially winter break, and tomorrow, he and Johnny are getting on a flight to Korea where they’ll be for three weeks, though Christmas and New Years. It will be the most amount of time Mark and Jongin have spent apart, and though neither of them have admitted it out loud, it’s clear enough that they’re both bothered by it. 

“Eat lots of barbecue for me,” Jongin says. By his standards, the smile he gives Mark is pathetic. He’s looking more miserable by the second. Jongin leans over the side of the bed and pulls something out from underneath, a thick envelope. Mark has been expecting this—yesterday, Jongin showered him designer gifts from France, but he had a feeling that there was more. “I got you something. Not just a gift, but for Christmas! Seeing as you’ll be away.” 

Mark crawls across the sheets until he’s nestled in Jongin’s lap. He kisses the man soundly with both hands cupping his face. Jongin sighs, blissful, into the kiss. When they part, it’s just far enough so their foreheads remain pressed together. Mark doesn’t even open his eyes—they just rock together gently, breathing the same air. He wants to say a thousand things, but he keeps them all to himself. 

“I’ll miss you,” Jongin says, so soft and quiet. Their conversation happens in whispers, like if they speak too loud their happy construction will crumple into a pile of cards. His hands hold onto Mark’s wrist, his thumbs rubbing tiny circles into the skin.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Mark replies. “I’ll text you when I get off the plane.” 

“And before, please?” Jongin says.

“Ok,” Mark agrees. “Before and after the plane. I have to go now.” 

Before Jongin can catch him again, he rolls off the bed, envelope in hand, and scoops up his backpack. The black Jansport is one of the only things he hadn’t allowed Jongin to replace. Standing at the foot of Jongin’s bed, he feels so much like an unsure teenager again. What if Jongin doesn’t want him when he gets back? What if he loses interest, and tosses Mark away to get a shiny, new toy? 

But then Mark sees the unshed tears in Jongin’s eyes. Mark likes that about Jongin, how he wears his emotions so openly. No, he loves that about Jongin. 

_ Say it, _ Mark’s traitorous brain whispers. _ I love you. Say it. _

Mark doesn’t. He bites the inside of his lip until he tastes the iron tang of blood. 

“I’ll see you, Jongin,” he says instead. 

“Bye, Mark,” Jongin replies. 

Mark makes it all the way to the front door, hand on the doorknob, when Jongin catches him again. Jongin kisses him like the world is ending, like these five seconds with Mark are going to be the last good moments of his life, ever. It’s the kind of kiss that’s world-altering, axis-shifting. 

If that’s not a signal, Mark doesn’t know what is. Too bad he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“Ok,” Jongin says once he has sufficiently kissed all the air from Mark’s lungs. “Goodbye for real. Go and come back safely.” 

“I will.”

Mark waits until he’s safely on the train, rattling its way towards Johnny’s apartment in Brooklyn, to open the envelope. The first thing he sees inside is an almost comical amount of won, so much so that Mark frantically looks around the train to make sure no one is watching him. There’s a sticky note on it that reads _ get something nice for your family _. 

Next, there’s a smooth black card, and Mark knows instantly what it is. The Amex Black Card may say Jongin’s name on it, but Mark knows this is specifically all for him.

Finally, there’s a business card, white and unassuming. Of all the things in the envelope, this is what knocks the air out of Mark’s lungs. On one side, there’s a note in Jongin’s terrible chicken scratch, the same as the sticky note. It says: _ he’s expecting your call. _ On the other side, there’s a name an a number: 

_ D.O., Producer. _

Money and gifts, that’s one thing. But never, not once, did Mark imagine that a hookup in a gallery bathroom could lead to having the personal number to a major hip hop producer in his hands, the producer of record for SM Entertainment _ and _ Capitol Records. Sure, Mark knows, somewhere in his mind, that Jongin knows people like this, but _ never _ did Mark think Jongin would go so far as to make an introduction. The game they played was that _ they_, _ Mark-and-Jongin_, went as far as their phones and the walls of Jongin’s apartment. Jongin is coloring outside the lines, now. 

And so this? Mark needs to catch his breath. 

“Yo man,” Johnny says upon opening his apartment door and ushering Mark inside. His brother lives in one of those Williamsburg lofts with a lot of exposed bricks, natural light, and a thousand plants he calls his babies. “Uh, you ok? You look a little... flushed.” 

“Yeah,” Mark chokes out. “Totally. It’s just super cold out, you know?”

“I get that,” Johnny says. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a minute. Like, since October, really. I feel so shitty about it.” 

“Nah man,” Mark laughs it off, tries not to think of all the times Johnny called him when he was wrapped up with Jongin. “Don’t worry about it. You were busy with all that cool travel editorial stuff.” 

“So what have you been up to?” 

“Oh,” Mark shrugs. _ Say something_, his mind says again. _ You need some help here, kid. _ He pushes that thought down. Somehow, Mark doesn’t think Johnny wants to hear about his baby brother being a _ sugar _ baby. “Just school and stuff. Yo, I’ve been making a lot of music lately, wanna hear some?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have an idea of a plot for this (as is implied), so I might write more if I find the time, though I will say I have a lot of other things I want to write before this. So I make no promises, but I know for sure more Superm is on the way. I never stanned EXO but for the past month Jongin has made me extremely sexually frustrated. I get it now guys, I really do.
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themunchking1) | [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/themunchking)


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